


And I Will Come and Bury You

by SophiaOfTheSevenStorms



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oh and you can tell which parts were written slightly later because I switch over halfway through, Oops, Unfinished, You can tell I wrote this ages ago because I was still calling him John not Jon, and always to remain so, not gonna change it tho, set immediately after episode 89, written then too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 13:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms/pseuds/SophiaOfTheSevenStorms
Summary: After his encounter with Jude Perry, Jon receives a visitor.





	And I Will Come and Bury You

**Author's Note:**

> This is an unfinished snippet of something I wrote right after episode 89 came out, which I intended to be a much longer thing but never got round to finishing. I rediscovered it in my google drive today and figured I might as well just post it, and hopefully someone will like it, short and half-formed as it is.

“John?” Georgie’s voice rang out from the downstairs hallway, faint through his bedroom door but he could still hear the note of concern hidden under her bright tone.

I’m heading out now, you sure you don’t want to come? It might be good for you to go out.”

John closed his eyes, gritting his teeth as another wave of pain hit him. Georgie’s medical cabinet had nothing stronger than paracetamol and the bag of frozen peas he’d managed to sneak out of the kitchen was growing warmer with every second.

“I- I’m fine, thanks!” He called back. He tried his best to keep his voice steady. “Like I said, I’m not… I’m not feeling particularly well. I think it’s best if I just get an early night.”

“Okay, if you’re sure… Well, anyway, there’s some soup in the freezer, just help yourself if you feel hungry.” Georgie didn’t sound happy. But then, she rarely sounded happy with him these days and just that moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when his hand was pulsing in white hot agony, the pain beating in time with his stuttering heartbeat and it took all his willpower not to start screaming.

John waited until he heard the front door close before releasing his breath in a low moan. He shifted the bag of peas from his palm to the back of his hand. The upper layer of skin on his palm was almost entirely burned away and the exposed flesh clung wetly to the cloth the bag was wrapped in, the raw, new skin tearing afresh as he moved it. His stomach turned at the sight and he tried to focus on his breathing, on the cold touch of the frozen bag against the back of his hand or the softness of the pillow behind his head, on anything that could keep him from screaming.

He really should be at the hospital, he knew that. Despite what Jude Perry had said, he really _wasn’t_ stupid. He knew that he should be in the hospital, that he shouldn’t be hiding his injury from Georgie, that he shouldn’t be planning to visit Michael Crewe as soon as his burnt hand had healed enough for him to go outside without feeling like he was going to collapse at any moment.

But going to the hospital was impossible when he was almost certainly wanted for murder, telling Georgie would mean telling her _everything_ and he could not deal with having that conversation right then, and not visiting Michael Crewe was… not visiting Michael Crewe was unthinkable. He _needed_ to hear his story, to finally get an explanation for all the vague references and muddled accounts scattered throughout so many statements. Whatever the man… the being… might do to him, whatever new injuries he might end up with, the possibility of getting his statement made any risk worth it.

Jon sank back into the bed, closing his eyes again. The idea of getting any kind of sleep when he was in so much pain seemed laughable but he had to try. He had no choice but to get through it. He was so tired, stress and terror and countless, cumulative restless nights taking their toll on him almost as much as the pain in his hand. He just needed to get well enough to go out again, then he could go see Michael Crewe and get one step closer to escaping the tangled web of mystery he was stuck in. He just needed… he just…

The doorbell rang and Jon’s eyes snapped open, jerking upright from the bed. Shards of pain stabbed through him as the movement jostled his injured hand. He gasped, heart racing in febrile spasms. He had to calm down. It was probably just another group of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Georgie seemed to get them practically every other day. Or perhaps it was a take away delivery guy who got the wrong house, or an art student looking to sell kitschy paintings for an extortionate price… but he knew it wasn’t. The doorbell rang again, seemingly louder this time, and then again when he made no move to address it.

He couldn’t let this go on. Whoever- or whatever- was on the other side of that door, it wasn’t going to go away until he opened it and he couldn’t risk attracting any attention. He dragged himself off the bed and down the stairs; his legs shook as he walked and he had to stop and lean against the wall several times before he made it to the front door. He paused there, breathing hard, trying to make out the shape of the person behind the frosted glass. It seemed human, at least, but that wasn’t a guarantee of anything.

Jon’s hand trembled on the door latch, hesitating. The doorbell rang again when he paused, a warning, he was sure of it. He began to pull down the door latch and no sooner had he done so when the person on the other side was pushing open the door, bursting into the hallway and slamming the door behind them.

It was Elias. Of course it was.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Elias grabbed Jon by the back of his neck and pinned him against the wall; his hands curled through Jon’s hair, tugging his head back, his other hand gripping Jon’s throat, just below his jaw. Elias kissed him and it was a rough, demanding thing that seemed to burn almost a fiercely as Jude Perry’s handshake. He towered over Jon in that moment and Jon didn’t know if it was fear or shock or something he didn’t want to acknowledge that made him give in. He opened his mouth, choking back a moan as Elias’ tongue met his, his eyes closing as he leant into the kiss, relaxing against his better instincts. Elias broke away after only a few moments, leaving Jon gasping for breath. His heart beat like birds’ wings against his chest and he sank back against the wall. Elias was still so close.

“ I knew it,” Elias breathed against Jon’s lips, his hand still buried in his hair. “I knew I was right to chose you. I am so proud of you, Jon.”

He stepped back, coughing slightly as he straightened his suit jacket. He seemed to gather himself, whatever frantic energy had possessed him draining away as if it had never been there at all.

“I apologise for not coming sooner, I thought it best not to risk attracting the attention of Ms Barker but I recognise that the delay must not have been easy for you.”

Elias nodded at Jon’s injured hand. The pain, forgotten in the rush of adrenaline and fearful lust, came howling back all at once and he bit back a sob, not missing the way Elias’ eyes seemed to widen at the sound.

“Wh- what are you doing here, Elias?” He tried to inject some authority into the question, to pretend as if his voice wasn’t shaking. He thought he saw Elias shiver slightly at his words.

“Looking after you, of course, Jon.” He spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That injury needs to be treated if you’re going to avoid infection and it’s hardly as if you can go to the hospital right now. Which reminds me…”

He picked up a briefcase resting against the wall that Jon hadn’t noticed him bring in. Flipping it open, he brought out a blister pack of pills and a bottle of water and handed them both to Jon.

“Come on now, Archivist,” Elias said, taking Jon’s arm and leading him into the kitchen. “Let me take care of you.”


End file.
